


Oops!

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Biting, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Scenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-29
Updated: 2013-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-24 23:47:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/946132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Puberty doesn’t go as planned, not for Harry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oops!

Harry’s pretty sure he’s an alpha. He probably won’t find out for certain for another year or so, not till he’s seventeen or eighteen and his hormones kick into full gear. But he’s starting to  _smell_  things on his classmates. It’s usually good things, too, food things. A boy in chemistry smells like granola and honey. It’s an early class and Harry nearly always forgets breakfast, so he inevitably spends first period most days feeling his stomach turn over and over.

It’s distracting is what it is. And it worries Harry that his senses feel so heightened already, before they’re fully developed.

It worries him, but it doesn’t worry him  _too_  much. 

 

Because the truth is: he’s  _excited_ to be an alpha. He likes being in charge, has since he was a child. It’s like he’s always had this innate ability to get people to do  _anything_  he asks. When he was very small, he used to bum snacks off other children in his class. Then, he found out he could persuade his friends to do his homework. Now, his teachers let him get away with all kinds of shit: skipping, cheating, coming to class really fucking high (okay, it was only the one time, but still).

 

Mostly, though, he’s excited to be an alpha because he wants to be  _famous_. It’s not that there aren’t famous betas and omegas. There are, he supposes, but all his idols, everyone who seems worth  _knowing,_ worth  _being,_ they’re all alphas.

So he waits. Patiently.

Okay, not  _that_ patiently. He jerks off twice, sometimes three times, a day, always trying to remain lucid enough to note whether or not this is  _the_ day, the day he starts to see the hint of his knot.

~

For all that Harry’s pretty sure that he’s an alpha, he’s willing to admit there’s a few holes in the theory. First off, everyone in his family is a beta- his mum, his sister, his step-dad. His mother isn’t sure about his real father’s full gender. Without a  _nose_ , how could she be? But after Harry presses and presses and presses her about it, she hisses out that he definitely never stuck a knot in her vagina. The image is vulgar enough that Harry drops the issue immediately and vows never to pick it back up.

 

Even more problematic is the fact that nobody seems able to smell  _him_.

 

Three months after he’s started really  _scenting_ other people, he asks a friend to give him a sniff. She’s a year and a half older and an omega, already through her first two heats.

“Careful,” he says, trying to keep his face serious. “You might want to jump me or something, if you get too close. “ This is for science, not sex, not yet, at least. He likes her well enough as a friend, but she smells, very faintly, like peppermint tea and that’s not really his thing.

She looks skeptical. “I’ve honestly never noticed your smell, Harry.”

He raises his eyebrows and bears his neck, “Be a love and lick me if you have to. I’m sure you’ll catch a whiff of something.” 

She leans in close and sniffs, twice.

She backs off, nodding. “Actually,” she says. “I think you might be an alpha or something because you  _do_ smell pretty good.”

“Yeah?” God fucking damn right, he does.

She nods, “Like, erm, fresh bread. Maybe.”

Harry lets his chin fall to his chest and tries to fend off his disappointment. “I work in a bakery.”

She shrugs and bites her lip. “It’s a nice smell?”

~

Harry doesn’t think about the other option, not very often at least.

The odds of him being an omega seem pretty damn slim. Male omegas are incredibly rare and, while they’re highly prized, they’re also really fucking weird.

He’s seen one once, in person, at the grocery, on a silver lead, following behind an ultra fit alpha with biceps the size of Harry’s head. Nobody’s eyes stayed on the alpha long. Everyone was watching the omega.

Harry can’t remember any particular detail about the omega’s appearance, only that he’d oozed sex. He remembers his twelve year old self desperately wanting to whip out his dick and pull one off right there, in the front of the bananas.

And that’s the problem with omegas, isn’t it? Near a heat, their scent wraps everyone in thick, silky blankets of arousal, alphas, betas and other omegas alike. Unclaimed and unsuppressed they’ve been known to cause fights in the street between total strangers.

More often than not, they’ve got their life partners on lock before they’re twenty years old, a fate Harry hopes  _never_ to be relegated to. They’re tied down, shut in, and knocked up sometimes before they’re legal to drink. It’s probably for that reason very few omegas ever reach the heights of fame and prosperity Harry aspires to.

Although, something has to be said for the possibility of being the next generation’s Elvis Presley.   

~

The X Factor lets anyone audition, no matter their gender. Several candidates are always technically “children,” like Harry, not yet through puberty, still a little unsure.

But the winners? Alphas, every goddamn time.

Harry’s relieved that he’s begun scenting because, now, a few years in, most of the people who try out are young alphas. He’s glad he’ll fit in.

At least, Harry’s glad he’s scenting until he arrives at the audition and is hit hard by a wave of conflicting scents. It’s nauseating enough to have him sipping water and taking small bites of cracker as he waits. He’s not sure how he’s going to perform with all the bile roiling around his stomach.

But the auditions are also exciting, even with (and, if he’s honest, a little because of) all the hormones billowing about. He has this urge to meet everyone, to sniff them all, to smile at them and then hug them and then make them laugh.

At first, he feels a little manic with it, in turns jumping about cackling and then hiding, shaky and panicked, in the loo.

Soon, though, he realizes something: people here are watching him. In fact, many appear to have difficulty taking their eyes off him. They listen to him, flock about him, even when he’s saying something boring or stupid. The power is thrilling, heady, and not a small bit arousing.

Shortly after finding out he’s made it to the second round, he rushes into the washroom for a quick wank, hot with joy and hard as fuck.

Still no knot.

~

The other boys are amazing. He gets the feeling, right away, that they’re meant to be as famous as he is: all charming and driven and handsome as fuck.

Actually, the handsome factor proves quite problematic for two reasons.

Yes, he loves the immediate ease with which they all permeate each other’s personal space. He even finds himself the instigator of tussles and huddles and dogpiles. But the touches, casual though they may be, often set his heart racing and desire pooling low in his belly. He’s never had so many inconvenient erections in his life and far too many of them are caught on film to be broadcasted to all of Britain.

The other issue is this: he hasn’t thought too much about his sexual orientation before, but he’d always assumed he’d be head over nuts for women, female omegas most of all, and yet here he is practically begging for dick.

It’s the worst with Louis. Sure, he’s the oldest and most  _developed_ (claiming he’s already  _seen to_  an omega in heat, though that’s bullshit as far as Harry can tell), but that doesn’t quite explain why his scent, rich and spicy, follows Harry everywhere. Harry can’t get it out of his head, not by leaving the room or even the building. And it doesn’t matter how thoroughly he scrubs in the shower, Louis’ scent remains a sweet fucking tease all over his skin.

As an experiment, Harry spends an afternoon pressed up against Zayn and it’s good, all cloves and Tabaco, until Zayn steps out to take a phone call and Louis is right there to take his place.

And, yes, like the typical alpha he hopes he’s developing into, Harry wants to burrow into Louis, bury his face in Louis’ neck and rub one out against Louis’ hip.

Scarier, though, when Louis smiles  _just so,_ Harry finds himself fighting these other urges, urges to bare his own neck, to stick out his arse, to  _kneel._  

~

“Niall,” Louis begins. He’s sitting beside Harry on the couch, arm thrown not quite haphazardly across the back. He’s fingering the ends of Harry’s curls and Harry can’t focus on whatever Louis’ actually saying to Niall because of the little shivers it’s sending down his spine. He’s prepared though, with a pillow in his lap to hide the boner that’s popped up in his sweats.

Niall’s eyes widen at whatever question Louis’ just asked and he rolls from his chair onto the floor.

Muffled by the carpet, he says, “But I have all these feelings, Lou.”

Harry watches Louis’ face as he raises an eyebrow and waits for Niall to continue.

“Feelings in my stomach area.” Niall rolls onto his back and rubs his belly. He reaches for the bag of crisps on the table. “I can’t stop eating.”   

“Maybe you’re just a beta with a tapeworm,” Louis suggests. There’s a string hanging from the hem of his shirtsleeve. Harry reaches across him to pick at it and says, “Don’t be mean, Lou. Niall’s the alpha-est of alphas.”

Louis’ fingers close around Harry’s wrist, thumb pressed against his pulse which skitters out of control. “There’s always a third possibility,” Louis suggests. “Niall, you could be an om—”

The whine feels ripped out of Harry, starting rough and low and then cracking to something higher pitched and childlike.

Louis turns to look at him. He’s smiling as he says, “What the fuck is your deal?”

Harry bites at Louis’ shoulder through the cloth of his grey jumper. Harry watches Louis' throat move as he swallows and looks away.

Niall says, “I feel like eating pizza. Anyone else feel like pizza?”

Shaking his head, Harry settles his chin against Louis’ shoulder, right over the spot he's just laid into with his teeth. “No. I think I’m happy right here.”

He tries to catch Louis’ eyes. But Louis is shifting away from him and saying, “Why, yes, Nialler, that’s exactly what I was thinking. Pizza.”

~

Two weeks before the end of the series, Harry and Louis find themselves lost in a closet. Well, that’s a bit of an exaggeration. They’re not lost, so much as shoved inside and locked up “until they’re ready to behave themselves” because they’ve gone one Liam noogie too far by Zayn’s standards.

Harry’s cool with it, though. He’s tired of the promo photoshoot they’re working on- hence the Liam noogies- and the closet is filled with costumes, mostly for women, but entertaining all the same.

He pulls a purple sequined jacket off a hanger and holds it up against himself. “Probably fit me,” he says, but before he can slip it on, he feels Louis move in close behind him. Harry can’t help himself. He melts back against him.

Louis reaches an arm around and fingers a black leather dress. Against Harry’s ear, he says, “I’d rather see you in this.”

Suddenly, the closet seems much smaller and Harry can’t seem to find any air. He lets his head fall back onto Louis’ shoulder and arches into him. Louis is hard.

_Fuck._  This is happening.

Louis slides a hand up Harry’s shirt and flicks a thumb over one of his nipples. Harry shudders and presses a hand against the front of his pants. Louis moves his mouth, open and wet, from Harry’s ear to his neck to the curve of his shoulder. He says, “Tell me you want this, Harry. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Harry whines. The words are… he can’t fucking find them. “Lou.” Louis’ dick feels huge and hot against his arse, even through two layers of trousers.

“I know it’s weird or whatever, both of us alphas. But, like, it’s just friends, you know, two lads, helping each other—“

Harry cuts into his speech, “Please just…”

And that seems to be all the permission Louis needs to reach into the front of Harry’s trousers and wrap a hand around his dick.

It’s not enough for Harry. He wants fewer layers between them. He wants to feel Louis’ dick against his cheeks, between his legs. He undoes his belt buckle and pulls down his trousers and his boxers in one swift motion.

“Harry, holy fuck,” Louis murmurs. He lets go of Harry’s dick to make an effort at removing his own bottoms and his teeth sink into the skin at Harry’s throat.

Harry’s arsehole  _throbs,_ three times. Then, he feels Louis' cock against him, smooth and hot. Louis pulls him into his chest more tightly and says, “You’ve got me riled enough to knot. You like that? You want it inside you?”

And those words, they shouldn’t affect him. They  _should_  be a turn off. An alpha wouldn’t want shit inside him, but Harry’s hole is  _tingling_.

 

Louis’ hand is back on his dick and it’s fantastic. Harry’s never felt quite like this before and he wonders if it’s because it’s ‘real sex’ (as in, with a living, breathing person and not his right hand) or if it’s  _Louis_  or if—Louis’ cock slides between his thighs and Harry feels the bulge at its base.

Harry reaches out in front of him, clutching handfuls of fabric, and comes.

“Louis,” he cries, spilling a little fountain of white onto his stomach. He’s embarrassed, suddenly, by his own inexperience, how quickly it’s over and how he can’t keep his voice from cracking.

But then it doesn’t matter because he feels the sharp prick of Louis’ teeth on his neck and the slickness of Louis’ come between his legs.

“Oh my god. Harry?” Louis is stepping back and speaking slowly, clearly confused as fuck. He grabs a yellow, cotton sundress that Harry’d pulled to the floor and begins to wipe Harry’s arse and between his legs. Then, gently, he turns Harry around to face him so he can clean up Harry’s front.

Harry’s limbs feel heavy and achy and his mind feels thick with cinnamon and chocolate, but he’s never felt more clarity about who he is, who he’s becoming. 

“You haven’t knotted up yet?” Louis murmurs, voice rough. His soft tone and careful hands are twisting something inside Harry. He looks into Louis’ eyes and all he sees is blue blue blue. Harry’s dick twitches.

“Eh,” Harry says, blinking. He’s half hard, though the want behind it seems less urgent, and he’s not sure if he really softened all the way after coming.

“Jesus,” Louis says and buries his face in the Harry’s shoulder, letting the now come-stained yellow fabric fall to ground and cover their trousers and pants, still pooled around their ankles. “You look like so fucked out, right now, like a fucking arse-leaker.”

Harry takes a deep breath and squeezes Louis’ arms. Louis lifts his head and their eyes meet. Louis laughs. “Stop looking at me like that or we’re really gonna cock this up for everyone.”

As the word ‘cock’ rolls off Louis’ tongue and sends an instinctive shiver down Harry’s spine and right to the pucker of his arse, Harry makes a decision: he’s not going to lie about and mope and, fuck, he’s really not going to get himself tied up. No, he’s going to use his assets. He’s going to really  _milk_  them.

Harry smirks and repeats Louis, saying, “Cock.” He looks down to where his dick has thickened fully again, between them. Louis follows his gaze.

“Fuck,” Louis says. “Are fucking kidding me?”

“It’s okay, Lou, I can take care of myself.” And he reaches down to do just that.

“Sure you can,” Louis says and lays his hand over Harry’s own.

Someone bangs on the door and Niall’s voice calls out, “It smells like dick in there.” Then, like that’s a totally normal comment, he continues, “Make yourselves decent and get back out here, lads. They need your to shoot your ugly mugs.”  

Louis’ eyes have gone wide. “Fuck, shit, fuck me. Harry. Shit. This is not good. You know what I mean? We can’t just be…”

Harry smiles and bends down to pull up Louis’ pants. “You heard the man. We’ve got a job to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I could write a 100K in this universe. But, um, RL is creeping up on me, so I thought I’d just do what I can, as I have time, in sort of self-contained pieces. If I get to the other parts, they may contain other pairings and other warnings, but, never fear, the arch of the universe bends toward ~~justice~~ Larry.


End file.
